Spot Cannot Propose Without Drama Involved
by newyorktopaloalto
Summary: A small fic in celebration of LGBTQ marriage being legal in New York. Modern day, Sprace.


A/N: Just a Sprace one-shot I made in celebration of New York passing LGBTQ marriages.

Warnings: It's Sprace, so there's a shit ton of cussing.

Disclaimer: Still don't own. Will never own. It's disheartening, really.

*Sprace*

"You tell anyone I did this and I will fuckin' kick your ass."

Race turned around from where he was peering into the fridge and gave a confused look to Spot.

"What are you talkin' about?"

Spot glanced at him, a mixture of exasperated frustration, anger and suppressed happiness trying to vie for attention in his eyes.

"So, I know you don't ever watch the news or whatever, but since last week I've been wanting to do something but I wanted to make sure that it could actually happen before I talked to you about it and it did so I'm talking to you about it."

"What the fuck Spot? What are you rambling on about?" Race was more amused than anything because seeing his lover flustered was something that happened once in a blue moon.

Spot resolutely glared at the tiling of their kitchen floor and toyed with something in his front jeans pocket. He chanced a quick look at Race and a faint red tinge covered his cheeks.

Race looked on, concerned. At this point Spot looked more like he was ready to have a heart attack than anything else.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Sean?" Race asked gently, gentler than he usually was with Spot.

Spot took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and looked Race straight in the eye (as well as he could anyhow, with Race standing a good four inches shorter than him.)

"You're going to marry me."

"…What?"

"I said, you're going to-"

"I heard what you said. It was more of an instinctive exclamation than anything else."

Spot just looked blankly at him, showing absolutely nothing on his face. (A façade, Race knew, because he showed so much emotion before.)

"But how can we-?"

As if on cue their phone rang and Race hurried over to answer it. The only thing that met his ears when he picked up were the sounds of joy and celebration.

"Me and Blink are getting married!" Mush shouted gleefully, "and you better be my goddamn best man at our wedding or I'll kick your ass!" And with that, the phone line went dead.

Race turned to look at Spot again, whose back was resolutely facing him. Race could see his neck, which was a brighter red than before, and whenever his hands unclenched from the fists they were in, Race spotted a glint of gold.

"You're fucking serious."

Spot didn't say anything, but his shoulders hunched tighter than they were before.

"When did this happen?"

"Tonight," Spot supplied snippily, "when you were at work."

"And you got these in the hour or so that you were off and I wasn't."

Spot turned incredulously at him and gave Race a funny look. "Are you fucking with me? I got them last week."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Why?"

At this rather stupid statement Spot stalked out of the room. Race hurried to follow after.

"If you don't want to, just goddamn tell me." It was said calmly, but even from behind Spot, Race could tell that his jaw was clenching and unclenching.

"It's not that-"

"Then what is it Anthony? Because you don't seem so pleased that I asked."

"I was shocked, fucker. And you didn't exactly propose in the most romantic manner."

Spot glared at him again before exaggeratedly bowing onto one knee. "Oh Anthony, the love of my life, my one and only. Would you please do me the absolute honour of marrying me? I could never see a future without you because I love you ever so much."

"Yes." And with that Race kneeled as well and chastely kissed him.

Spot made another face. "You're an asshole."

Race just grinned at him and snatched the ring from Spot's hand.

"And you're not as tough as people make you out to be," he replied, kissing Spot again.

"I have no idea what you mean."

"You got me a ring before anyone actually said we could get married. That's some romanticism for you right there."

"I thought that this was the first thing we discussed. If you say anything to mess up my reputation, I'll kill ya."

"You're getting married to your lover of five years, I believe that's a reputation ruiner in itself."

"How about if you shut the fuck up and go collect whatever earnings you won from the result of tonight. Faker"

"$700, baby. Worth it, or totally worth it? And I just pretended because I wanted you to be nice about the proposal. You didn't have to be a drama queen"

"I cannot believe you actually bet on the passing or not passing of a law. It seems inhumane. And how about you shut the fuck up."

"Oh please, you would do the same if you had any gambling bone in your body at all." He ignored the second statement.

"Shut up, Race."

"I love you too, ass."

"Whatever."

"You know you're going to have to deal with my mother even more now."

"Shut _up_, Race."


End file.
